"Okay," she says finally, and we walk to the bench together.
I run through the standard screening questions. Health history. Lifestyle. Why she's interested in the program. Tessa answers carefully, honestly, as far as I can tell. She's got credit card debt and her car needs repairs she can't afford; she's been taking the bus for three months. She's not desperate, not yet, but she's tired of barely scraping by.
"The money is good," I tell her. "Better than anything else you'll find for this level of commitment. But you need to understand what you're agreeing to. Regular blood draws. Health monitoring. Complete discretion about who you're working for and why."
"The friend who referred me said it's like being a plasma donor, but more exclusive."
"Something like that."
She nods slowly, processing. "And the people I'd be... donating to. They're not going to hurt me?"
"No. The program exists specifically to prevent that kind of thing." I think about Elena's explanations, about the careful systems Maximus has built. "You'd be protected. Compensated. Treated well."
"It sounds almost too good to be true."
"It's not charity," I say. "It's a mutual benefit. You have something we need. We have resources you need. The arrangement works because both sides get something valuable."
Tessa is quiet for a moment, staring at her hands. "Can I think about it? I don't want to make a decision this big on the spot."
"Of course. Take a few days. If you're interested, call this number." I hand her a card with a generic business name and a phone number that routes to Elena's office. "If you're not interested, forget we ever met. No pressure either way."
She takes the card and tucks it into her jacket pocket. "Thankyou. For being straight with me. Some of the other offers I've gotten felt... predatory."
"Those are the ones to avoid."
She almost smiles. "I figured that out. Eventually."
We stand, and I'm about to say goodbye when I feel it.
A shift in the air. A prickle at the back of my neck. The sudden, instinctive awareness that we're not alone anymore.
I scan the street without moving my head. The shadows between buildings. The parked cars. The alley that runs behind the restaurant.
There. Movement in the darkness near the Thai place. And there, across the street, a figure that wasn't standing in that doorway thirty seconds ago.
Two. No, three. Four.
My stomach drops.
"Tessa." I keep my voice calm, conversational. "I need you to go back inside the restaurant. Right now. Don't run, don't look around, just walk to the side door and go in."
"What? Why?"
"Because something's wrong, and I need you safe before I can deal with it."
She hears the tension under my controlled tone. To her credit, she doesn't argue or ask more questions. She just turns and walks toward Mireille's side door with the forced casualness of someone trying very hard not to look afraid.
I count the figures again. Five now. Six. They're emerging from the shadows like they were always there, just waiting for the right moment.
Six against one.
I reach for my phone to send an emergency signal, but I already know it's too late. They're moving, circling, cutting offescape routes with the coordination of predators who've done this before.
The first one steps into the light. Male, maybe thirty when he was turned, with a shaved head and the kind of bulk that comes from either serious weight training or serious violence. His smile shows too many teeth.
"Celeste Moreau," he says. "The gatekeeper's new pet. We've been wanting to meet you."
"Funny. I don't remember asking for introductions."
